“I see.” Lily nods, like what he’s saying is no big deal. “I’ve noticed some of the pecking order amongst you guys from the sidelines. Who’s above you in Rothford, would you say?”

He tilts his head. “My cousins, for sure. Magnus, Marius, and Markus. The first two have seniority and a much bigger wallet, along with the kind of name that makes people notice. Markus is younger than me, but we’re both on our first post-grad year. The little shit’s a genius. He’d still have priority here, as this is his house. Next door, we’re around the same level.”

“And?” Lily prompts.

He shoots her a wolfish grin. “And no one.”

“Not even the other Kellers? Voss, Cross, Rothford, Hunt, Archer…” she lists.

The only name that stands out to me is Rothford, the name of the school. And I guess Cross, as I just met him.

“Voss is new money. A lot of money, but new all the same, especially in this town. His dad’s a Hunt, but the least consequential of them. Everyone knows Lewis is a cunt. The Rothfords lost all their money and some of their status. Vi’s fine, but she gets more clout from being married to Voss than her own name. Archer and Hunt? They would be way, way above me; same level as the Goltzes, really, if they were studying here. But they’re at Stanford and Harvard, so, yep. Just my cousins. As for the other Kellers…” He winks. “Well, there’s a reason I’m the one they call Keller.”

Somehow, he doesn’t sound boastful. It almost feels like he’s limiting the extent of his reach and status. He didn’t hesitate to say both Hunt and Archer—whoever they are—were above him in status, and didn’t expound on why he’s the Keller, for example, although my internet search gives me a hint. After all, the whole family is loaded, but from what I understand, it’s Arlo, his dad, and his modelling career that launched them all. He’s even the reason why Marcella Keller met Eriks Goltz in the first place.

When I snooped on the Kellers, the internet was all about Arlo, Darius, and—somewhat strangely—Octavia. Maybe because they’re all models.

“Makes sense,” Lily says. “Well, if that gets us drinks faster, you’re a good friend to have.”

“Friends,” he muses. “I like that. I don’t have many of those. Yes, let’s be friends, Lily Trueman.”

“Really?” Lily chuckles. “What would you call the dozens of people always around you.”

“Acquaintances.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask.

I feel a bit left out of the conversation, mostly because I was just watching and finishing my Champagne flute. I place it back on the bar and start on the cocktail.